The night that may or may not have happened
by Hashilavalamp
Summary: Late at night after a long day, Jack Crawford receives a call from Wolf Trap's local police station. The officers picked up a strangely behaving Will, in the company of Hannibal Lecter. Jack seeks to find out just what actually happened here. He doesn't exactly find answers, but begins to question his sanity.


You know what Jack Crawford likes?  
He likes it when he can go home in the evening and spend it in peace and quiet, without his phone obnoxiously demanding his attention because usually, whatever news may reach him in the evening, they tend to be bad. Jack Crawford does not like bad news. He's had enough bad news in his life to write the most depressing book in history.

It is approximately 2 am when Jack steps across the threshold of his house, tired to the bone and already teary-eyed at the very thought of sinking into the soft mattress of a place called heaven. Or bed. Rather similar things when you are dead-tired, to be honest.

Just as he moves to slip off his coat, a dreadful sounded reaches his ear, one that makes his blood run cold and his insides twist painfully.

His phone. Ringing.

Unmistakably, 'Sound of da police' is ominously filling the air.

With a sigh that speaks of a deep-set weariness, the agent reaches for his phone and resigns to his fate, accepting the phone call.

It's a very short conversation, but Jack hates every second of it and by the time the agonizing call ends, he is livid.

Oh, how he curses Will Graham.

He doesn't actually, but in this moment, he wishes Will would burn in the cruel flames of purgatory because it would spare Jack a lot of trouble and sorrows.

And this drive to the police station.

The situation described to him was: Will Graham was found near Wolf Trap, appearing inebriated and causing 'mayhem', which was not further specified. When they got him, he was in the company of a similarly intoxicated man who attempted to excuse his friend's behavior in first French, then German, and eventually a language none of the officers recognized. He too was brought to the station, where Will told the officers to call Jack Crawford.  
Which they then proceeded to do.

Jack grips the wheel of his car a little tighter, staring at the street with an expression of nearly painful concentration to keep himself from thinking about the situation at hand, thus preventing the pending rage aneurysm.

When the man arrives at the police station, a few officers greet him and usher him into the room in which they are apparently detaining the unstable profiler. As Jack enters, he believes himself to be fully prepared for whatever sight might await him: vomit, blood, tears, the full program. Face set in a stern expression, he also fully intends to bite Will's head off (figuratively of course; with all these cannibals on the loose, it is necessary to clarify this), whether Will is sober by this point or not; it is to teach him a lesson.  
Just because he is no longer a suspected cannibalistic murderer, doesn't mean he can just go around wrecking havoc. Not when Jack is the one suffering as a result.

Internally, Jack is mulling over all the possible things he could shout at his special agent.

The words pitifully die in his throat when he lays his eyes on Will.

There he is, sitting on the ground with spread legs, his arms resting on his knees.  
He appears to be donning a pink dress with white stripes. There are also a couple of delicate flowers braided skillfully into his unruly hair, and two or three hair clips that attempt to tame it.

The rather cheerful attire vastly contradicts his mood, as he is blankly staring ahead with the stare of a man who has seen the horrors of reality and has become so despaired that he no longer cares and apathetically watches as the world crumbles and falls apart.

Now, Crawford is actually way more concerned than he is angry. In fact, all of his anger dissipates at the sight, and instead pity and concern crawl into his breaking heart. Because really, this is just heartbreaking.

"Will?" he calls out tentatively, unsure whether the other man has realized he is there.

"Hey" is the reply, the only sign that Will has in fact acknowledged his presence, because he does not move an inch. His voice sounds so empty. What has this poor man been through that he has been reduced to such a state.

There is an awkward silence and Jack finally remembers that he should be angry.

So, he straightens his back and gives Will a stern look. "Will, explain yourself." Jack makes vague hand gestures at the dress the other is wearing.

Now, Will glances up to him, his expression still that of a broken man, though now a bitter smile is gracing his lips. "Isn't it obvious?" he challenges, giving Jack a pointed look, who is quite puzzled because no, it is not obvious to him. In what world would it be obvious. Not in this one, that is for certain.

Will does not give off the impression that he is willing to talk more about whatever made him dress in such a manner, which is a pity because Jack would really love to know how it came to that. So he tries a different approach. See, he has remembered a very crucial detail.

"Who was with you when you got here?" he questions, trying still to sound like a respectable, serious FBI member.

"Hannibal Lecter" replies Will, surprising Jack a little. So shortly after Will was acquitted, the two are already doing things together? And more surprising, the impeccable Hannibal Lecter decided to get drunk?

A bit confused, Jack looked around, trying and failing to locate said psychiatrist. Eventually he asks in a voice that sounds more lost than he'd like, "Where is he?"

"In the restroom" is the immediate response, before Jack has even properly finished his sentence. Somehow, that is odd.

"How…How long has he been in there?"

A shrug. "Probably for half an hour now. Lost track of time."

Crawford is almost scared to ask. "What the hell is he doing in there?!"

Graham is still for a moment, apparently retrieving the particular information. "Last time somebody checked, he was crying. The music really got to him."

What music? When did that happen? Was this even real life? Jack is starting to feel as if he has entered a parallel universe in which awful things are happening. Everyone seems informed but him. Even the officers don't seem all too fazed by Will's choice of clothing.

To make sure, Jack enters the restroom and hears quiet sobbing. Carefully he approaches Hannibal who has his back to him, and thankfully is dressed in a suit. At least one thing that is not disconcerting. "Dr Lecter?" Hannibal does not face him and instead says something that sounds like gibberish to Jack, bearing some resemblance to Eastern European languages, or rather those he is familiar with.

Deciding that Hannibal is not an available source for information, Jack has a little talk with the officers who brought the duo to the police station. When they were found, they were attempting to steal the dog of an old man who decided to go for a walk with his Dachshund in the middle of the night.  
The old man doesn't want to sue them, so all is well. Jack may now pick the two up and drive them to their respective homes.

Which he proceeds to do, blocking out Hannibal's occasionally sob in the backseat.

Whatever music got him into this state, it must've been awful. Or tragically beautiful. Reportedly, Lecter has a thing for opera music and is known to get a tad emotional when listening to it.

Jack makes a mental note to later ask about that.

As it turns out, he never gets to ask.

Will becomes infuriatingly good at evading Jack's questions, and Hannibal no longer recalls the night and somehow, Jack does not want to explain to him what exactly occurred.

He does however tell the story to the rest of the lab, who later tell Hannibal, who however is not informed that he was indeed Will's companion during that night, and subsequently appears peeved whenever that 'Mysterious Man' is mentioned.

Months in the future, Jack would wonder though if not maybe he had hallucinated all of this.


End file.
